“I don’t know the answer to that. Dario certainly isn’t going to tell me, and Val never has. I think Giuseppi stopped doing a lot of the things Miceli wanted to keep doing that made a great amount of money and that made Miceli angry. I’m only speculating. This split seems to have been brought on by Valentino discovering a warehouse used for auctioning young girls to wealthy men and women. He shut it down. Apparently, that wasn’t well received by his uncle.”
A shadow fell across them. Taviano stood close. “Emme, it seems Val is extremely agitated. So much so that Stefano and Vittorio can barely keep him down. Stefano says to get in there and find out what’s wrong so he doesn’t undo all the good the surgeon’s done. Vittorio can’t spare more blood.”
She frowned, getting to her feet immediately. “Did anyone check on Giuseppi? Reassure him his father and Dario are okay?”
“Of course.”
Emmanuelle stepped into the shadow tube, the pull on her body vicious, wrenching at her until she felt completely pulled apart and disoriented. She stepped from one shadow to the next, letting this one carry her inside the house. Taking a deep breath, she let herself have a moment for her body to catch up with the reality of her mind, and then she straightened her shoulders and strode into the master bedroom.
The moment she pushed open the door, Valentino’s vivid green eyes were on her, hot with anger. He was sitting up, bandages covering his arm, shoulder and chest, stark white against his olive skin. He had more muscles than most men had, and even sitting in bed covered in bandages, he appeared threatening. Those eyes of his were on her face, a gathering, threatening storm, just as fierce as the one outside.
“I take it you can handle this, Emme,” Stefano said. “We’ll leave you to it.”
Emme stepped away from the door, her gaze on Val. He was clearly spoiling for a fight. That was good. Better than him trying to pretend he was sweet. Stefano and Vittorio went out of the room without a backward glance. Emmanuelle was very grateful her older brothers didn’t treat her as if she were a little child they had to protect. Instead, they made it seem as if Val was the one throwing the tantrum and she had been brought in to calm him down.
They stared at each other for a long time. For what seemed forever. Emmanuelle struggled not to fall into those brilliant green eyes. She kept her features composed, her back to the door, her eyes on the man who had trapped her into something she knew was very explosive but equally as wrong.
Before, she would have been the first to speak. She was so much younger than Val, always seeking his approval, so afraid of losing him. Now she waited. She’d learned patience over these last two years. She’d learned humility. She’d learned many other useful things. She kept her gaze on his.
“I don’t like his fucking hands on you, Princess.”
That was the last thing she expected Val to say. For a moment she couldn’t process it, or the raw jealousy in his voice. She blinked rapidly, turning his statement over and over in her mind as if she could change it. Frowning.
“For the last two years, all I’ve seen is that man with you, sitting with you, eating with you, arm around you. Making you laugh. Taking you to the club. Dancing with you. Your fucking mother loves him, and she hates everyone. He’s always pushing your hair out of your eyes. Thought about killing the son of a bitch so many times, Emme. You have no idea. You fucking have no idea how many ways I thought about killing him. I can be inventive.”
“Maybe that wouldn’t be such a good idea to try, Val. Not everyone is so easy to kill.” She kept her voice very mild, but a part of her was in a state of near panic. What if Valentino had really tried to kill Elie? Elie Archambault was one of the fastest shadow riders she’d ever met. Few could best Elie, and Val was not a shadow rider, trained from birth as an assassin.
“The point is not whether or not I would kill an innocent, Emme, and the answer is, I would not, but that I’m damn sick of you letting him put his hands on you. Even now, when you know I can feel him doing it.”
She let herself breathe. Valentino wouldn’t kill an innocent. She kept her eyes on his. “What does it mean when your shadow throws all those ties around mine until you tie my shadow so tight, I can’t get loose?”
“What do you think it means, Emmanuelle? You feel it every time we’re together.”
“It’s more than that. Tell me what more there is, Val. When I was sixteen years old and we were at that party, you saw our shadows on the wall and the way your shadow reacted to mine. You saw it then. It wasn’t just about sexual attraction. What happens when we’re tied together like this?”